Night of Anguish
by TheatreGirl81
Summary: When Enjolras is wounded on the barricade, he finally learns emotions aren't all bad


"Steady. Hold your positions. Fire!"

The sound of gunfire filled the air and the already darkening night was clouded by smoke. But everyone at the barricade fought on, driven by their devotion to the cause and to their fearless leader.

Enjolras was the best leader the students could have hoped for. He was brave, charismatic and not afraid to put himself on the front lines and fight for the rights of the poor; fight for everyone's freedom.

The fact that he cut a dashing figure standing upon the barricade didn't hurt either; in fact it helped draw others to his side. His dark hair was cut so that it showed off his perfect facial features, and his dark eyes burned with intensity as he pressed his lips together. Ask any woman in the line (and probably Grantaire as well) and they would say he was beautiful. Beautiful, devoted, untouchable Enjolras.

Unfortunately he was also a target. As the leader of the student rebellion he needed to be taken out and the National Guard would be aiming for him with the intention to kill.

"Enjolras!"

Who had called his name? Marius? Feuilly? Joly?

Two shots were fired, almost overlapping so they couldn't have been shot from the same gun and then Enjolras was falling as a sharp pain cut through his leg. Arms caught him awkwardly, but kept him from hitting the ground. He found himself staring up at Joly and Courfeyrac.

"Enjolras, you're bleeding," Marius cried as he came running over.

The leader closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. "Yes Marius, that's usually what happens when you get shot. Why aren't I dead?"

"Because he was a piss poor shot," a voice said. Jean Valjean was suddenly there. "I saw him take aim and I shot first. His shot was involuntary, but I'm sorry you were wounded."

"Better wounded than dead," Enjolras replied.

"We need to get this cleaned out," Joly said as he knelt down to inspect his friend's leg.

Their leader brushed the others away. "It's just a scratch."

Joly eyed him warily. "If we let you go you'd fall over. It doesn't look like a serious wound, but it may have torn through muscle."

"Valjean?"

"Enjolras?"

"You saved my life. If we live through this I'll owe you recompense."

"May I ask for something now?" the old man questioned.

Enjolras nodded. "If it is in my power to give you want you ask."

Valjean's eyes narrowed. "Javert. I want to be the one to take care of him."

"Courfeyrac, take him to Javert, the spy is yours." Enjolras' words were halfhearted. "Someone get extra men for the watch. Combeferre's in charge… Where is he?"

"We'll take care of it." Bahorel? Jean Prouvaire? Combeferre himself even, Enjolras wasn't sure.

They were pulling back now, retreating to a place where his wounds could be tended. Joly was supporting him as they went, he limping like some injured animal. He hated being weak. Hated this feeling of dizziness as it tried to bring him down into unconsciousness.

A shot was fired. The spy was dead.

They were in a room now, and Joly lowered him down onto a mattress and began to cut away his pant leg. Enjolras pulled off his vest and tie before he closed his eyes and leaned back, not looking forward to the unpleasantness to come. The wound was in his shin and it began to bleed in earnest when the tourniquet was pulled away.

"Oh my god! Enjolras, are you alright?" Of course the women would be flocking to his side to play nurse.

"I'm fine. Just a scratch."

"He's impervious, our Enjolras." Grantaire slurred. "He's immortal just like his namesake Apollo."

Enjolras opened his eyes to observe his unnecessary entourage. Only one girl, Marie, was kneeling at his side. Joly now had a first aid kit, so she must have brought it. There were also a couple of dry towels. Grantaire was lounging in the doorway and Combeferre rushed in carrying a basin of water.

"I told you to take over the watch," Enjolras groaned. "Does no one heed orders anymore? I think Joly has this under control."

"If I were you," Grantaire interjected, "I'd want little Mary there to be the one to take care of me, not Joly."

Enjolras shut his eyes. "Her name is Marie."

"Marie, Mary, close enough," Grantaire replied.

"This is going to hurt," Joly warned.

Enjolras nodded and then his eyes shot open as he bit back a cry of pain. "God damn, Joly! What are you doing?"

"I have to flush it out."

"Squeeze my hand, it'll help," Marie whispered. "I won't tell them."

Enjolras took her up on the offer, mostly because from where she was kneeling, on the opposite side of him from where Joly was, Grantaire couldn't see the action because her back was to him. Sometimes the strongest of men needed an anchor, but he didn't need his drunken friend telling everyone his secrets.

To distract himself from what Joly was doing, Enjolras began to think about the girl at his side. He knew the names of everyone at the barricade, male or female, because they were his family and friends; his comrades in arms. And because his fight for the less fortunate had reached more people than just the ABC boys, he wanted to be a capable, respectable, responsible leader. And knowing the names of the others was simply common courtesy.

Marie, a petite girl who was mostly curves, was a pretty girl. But she, like all the others, had been worn down by the revolution. Her wavy, dark brown hair was tied back but was falling out of its hold and black frames rimmed her worried blue-grey eyes. She was quiet, reserved and shy until someone goaded her into a heated debate. And oh was she smart! All the girls fancied by the ABC boys were. They could all argue math, science or politics with the best of them. Marie's favorite topic was literature.

"You look like you're deep in thought, Apollo," Grantaire commented. "Was I wrong? Perhaps you are contemplating your mortality."

"Yes, that's exactly what I was thinking," Enjolras replied, rolling his eyes.

"That's enough," Joly spoke up. "He needs to rest, not argue with you over your presumptions."

"Maybe you are afraid to die," Grantaire pressed on. "We all will, perhaps sooner than later with this rebellion. Are you worried that all this will be for naught and no one will remember what we do once we're bloody and broken on that barricade? Is that what you fear?"

Combeferre's head shot around and Enjolras stared at his friend, uncomprehending. Why would Grantaire dare say such a thing aloud? Never mind if it were true, that was Enjolras' choice to tamp down his feelings and throw himself fully into what had to be done.

"Shut up, Grantaire!" Joly admonished. "No one needs this right now."

Marie blanched white as a sheet and now she clung to his hand for her own comfort. Her hand was clammy and she shut her eyes to hide the shimmering of her tears. But Enjolras saw them.

"Combeferre, go back to the watch. Joly, take Grantaire out of here and sober him up," Enjolras said.

"I know how you are," Joly said suspiciously. "If we leave you to your own devices you're not going to rest. You'll stay in this room but you'll prowl around like a caged animal and hurt yourself worse."

An idea dawned on Enjolras and he discreetly pulled his hand away from the girl. "You're right, so leave someone with me. Grantaire may not think before he speaks, but he was right about Marie. I'd much rather be pampered by her than stare at you three. I'm sure she could find a way to keep me in bed." He made sure his words were flippant enough so that no one, not even Marie, could be sure if he was being serious.

At least Marie's embarrassment put some color back into her cheeks.

"Alright," Joly replied slowly. "We'll leave you the water basin in case you want to wash up and someone will bring you a change of clothes later. Don't overexert yourself, no matter what you do or don't do. And make sure you change the dressing."

Enjolras and Marie both nodded and Joly left then alone, shutting the door behind him. Marie, suddenly self-conscious, folded her hands in her lap and looked down, studiously avoiding his eyes.

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"What?" She looked up.

"What I said about you keeping me in bed," he told her. "I was just trying to make them leave."

"Oh." She looked down again. "Well I'm sorry too."

"For what? Getting upset?"

"Women tend to be ruled by emotion," she whispered. "I tried to keep them down but I guess I'm not as strong as I thought."

"You're human," Enjolras told her. "And besides, Grantaire can be crass beyond belief sometimes. Trust me, he won't remember it come morning."

"I don't know if that makes it better or worse."

Enjolras smiled at the comment. "Me either."

Then she began to wring her hands, obviously hesitant about speaking what she was thinking. "Is it true, what he said? Are you afraid to die, Enjolras?"

He sighed. "I'm more afraid of the cause dying when we're gone. I'm scared that those who come after us won't pick up the flag of revolution to defend the honor of France because of what is happening to us. I fear that it will be all for naught."

"But we've gained supporters," Marie pointed out. "Others will follow."

"Yes…" Enjolras sighed and leaned back. "Others will follow. But sometimes I wonder: is it worth it in the end? I'd gladly give my life for this cause but what about the others? They all followed me and Combeferre, but when this over how many lives will be lost for this fight? How many lives will I be responsible for?"

Marie was quiet for a long moment. "It was our choice to follow you, Enjolras. We needed a leader and you stepped up. We knew what we were getting into."

"But Grantaire's words shook you," he said. "I saw the color drain from your face. You're scared."

"I'm human, you said so yourself," she rebuked. "And I wasn't expecting him to say what he did. And honestly, can you look me in the eye and tell me you are not afraid to die? You evaded me earlier. You are the impenetrable one, but we all know you've buried most of your emotions deep down for the sake of the revolution. That's why we respect you, because you're single minded. But, just once, can you admit that you're human too."

"I can't show weakness around them."

"Then admit it to me."

She was good. She was displacing her own fears and apprehensions onto him to distract both of them from the world beyond the door. But this discussion could get very personal very quickly, so he decided to stop her rant and let her know he was on to her.

"Marie…"

"Damn it Enjolras, who am I going to tell? Do you think that in the heat of the revolution that is threatening to consume us all I'd be a frivolous little girl and gossip about your fears? You need to be honest with yourself and…"

"And what?" he goaded. Lord, her eyes were penetrating. This was what he missed, what he needed: this intense bickering that would lead to the release of some of his emotions. They had been pent up for too long. "Why don't you tell me what I need?"

"Have you thought that maybe this is the exact time and place that you need to let those emotions out?" she questioned. "Let them out in the privacy of this room in the company of someone willing to listen."

"Could you handle that? The flood of emotion when this dam breaks? There's more to this than you realize."

"I wouldn't have suggested it if I couldn't!"

Enjolras found himself wanting nothing more than to wipe that look of certainty off her pretty face, so he reached out and grabbed her, pulling her on top of him. She cried out, something between a gasp and a shriek, and then he was kissing her, a deep, passionate kiss that reverberated to her core. For a moment she just clung to him, needing to be lost in a distraction like this. And then she was kissing him back, her hands sliding up under his shirt.

He pulled away first with a gasp. "This isn't what we should be doing. I was teasing before, but this isn't the time or the place to form a bond like this. God Marie, I shouldn't have done that."

She laid her head against his chest. "But maybe it is, that was what I was getting at before." She was red again. "That was… that was nice. And you know, maybe that's as far as it needs to go. If we're willing to admit that we're both scared then maybe we could find some security in a comforting pair of arms. Sometimes all you need is to be held to feel safe."

"Do you feel safe with us, Marie?" Enjolras asked, putting his arms around her. "Safe with me?"

She nodded, the briefest bobbing of her head. "I do. You and your friends are perfect gentlemen. Even Grantaire… when he's sober."

"Maybe I should make certain you're safe." He was contemplative.

She looked up, studying his face. "How so?"

"I don't want to waste lives," he told her. "I don't want those unnecessary deaths. I should send the women away in the morning. Them, and the men who have children waiting for them back home."

Something flared in her eyes. An unspoken defiance perhaps, but she didn't voice it. Instead she tightened her grip on him. The need to give back some of that comfort sprang up from deep inside of him.

Pulling away, Enjolras carefully slid over on the mattress and patted the spot beside him. Without hesitation Marie moved off the floor and curled against his chest. One arm went around her and they linked hands.

He squeezed his eyes shut and sighed out shakily. "Don't let me go," he whispered.

"Enjolras?"

"Grantaire's right," he whispered, staring at the ceiling. "You're right. I am scared. Terrified actually."

"I'd be more worried if you weren't," Marie told him honestly. "Let it out, Enjolras, your secrets are safe with me." She let go of the hold on her emotions and allowed her tears to fall. "We're all scared but we'll all do what needs to done."

"Exactly," he replied. "And if it comes down to it I will stand on top of that barricade waving our flag in the faces of the National Guard, consequences be damned."

"You're a good man, Enjolras."

He sighed. "But will the people see it like that? Or will they see it as justice against an unlawful revolt? No one wants to go out like that, executed like a criminal for standing up for beliefs." Tears were welling in his eyes, but true to his nature he held them back. "There's a part of me that hopes it's a swift death. One bullet no pain." He adjusted his injured leg and winced. "Pain makes me crazy and the thought of being crippled and unable to get away… I could see them doing it, though. Taking out everyone else and then torturing me since I started this whole thing. That scares me."

"That would scare anyone," she replied.

"I don't want to think about it anymore. How I'm going to be executed."

They laid there in awkward silence until Marie dared to break the pall. "Would you like a drink?" she asked. "It will ease the… pain. In your leg. I could go find a bottle of wine or something…"

The pain in his leg. They both knew that wasn't what she had first intended to say, but Enjolras silently thanked her for her digression.

He had only closed his eyes for a moment, but it felt as if he'd been asleep for years. He hadn't gotten much rest during the past few nights, so maybe the wound was a blessing in disguise. It had been the door opening that jarred him awake. Marie slipped into the room and closed the door. In addition to the wine she held clothing.

"Combeferre gave them to me," she told him, setting the two articles on a stool. "It's just pants and a shirt."

"How long were you gone?" he asked as he sat up. He couldn't afford to admit that he'd missed her, that he didn't want to spend the night alone.

She crossed the room and dropped down next to him. "Longer than I planned. Everyone wanted to know if you are alright. So after explaining that you were, no less than eight times, I found the wine shop."

"Grantaire didn't bother you, did he?"

Marie shook her head. "He was out cold. In the wine shop."

"Why does that not surprise me," Enjolras replied. He took the bottle, pulled out the cork, and took a long drink.

"So… Do you want me to check your leg?" Marie asked.

He nodded. "At least this time I have something to dull the pain."

"I knew the wine would help."

Maybe it was the saddened look that settled over her face that made him damn the consequences and repercussions, but Enjolras gave in to his feelings. He caught her hands in his and looked straight into her eyes. "I wasn't talking about the wine, Marie."


End file.
